No Matter What
by Tessryne
Summary: Jamison finds himself under Dr. Ziegler's care and struggles with his feelings of unworthiness and self-loathing, but her concern for him opens a door within his heart that he'd barred shut long ago. A threat appears and Jamison immediately steps in to protect the selfless battle medic as he makes a personal vow from that day onward to keep her safe, no matter what.


**-=So this is my first Overwatch fanfiction. I have fallen in love with Junkrat's character and have been researching more into him and about him and felt compelled to write a short with him in it. I main Mercy and my husband main's Junkrat, so I totally ship Mercyrat (forget their age differences, feh!). Forgive me if this seems a little out of character and sloppy, I just had this idea in my head and needed to get it out and I'm still getting a feel for the depth of Jamison as a character. I hope you enjoy and feel free to give me some feedback. I do not own Overwatch or it's characters=-**

Jamison collapsed with a huff of exhaustion against a corridor wall situated well behind the path of the payload as his team continued to escort it to its destination. He quickly ejected the empty frag canister from his home made launcher and slapped a new one in before carefully setting his lethal creation beside him on the ground, just in case an enemy happened upon him. A resounding boom shook the walls around him and a puff of dust cascaded down to pepper him from the well weathered and beaten structure he sought refuge within. His chest heaved as he labored to catch his breath, the stump of his crippled lower right arm and leg beneath their mechanical prosthesis' ached with phantom pain. He winced against it and drew in a hiss between his teeth before closing his parched lips in a grimace to bear through it.

This was nothing compared to what he'd been through before, he tried to convince himself, not letting his mind linger too long on the ghosts of his past.

Above the din of chaos and rapid firing of guns in the distance, the distinct clapping of heels on concrete could be heard moving at a fast clip and became increasingly louder as their battle medic, Angela, closed in on his position.

Angela Ziegler knew immediately that their team was missing a member. The absence of his maniacal laughter and the concussive booms from his launched bombardments of frag grenades that thumped in her chest like a second heart beat was hard to miss. They'd just pushed back a massive wave of enemies, of which their explosives loving junker had played a huge role in, and his sudden disappearance put a knot of unease in her gut. He'd been right there within the enemy line when he'd gone all out and unleashed what had to have been his entire stock of munitions within their midst. That kind of brash behavior wasn't entirely uncharacteristic of the manic man, but when she didn't hear his distinct gait coming up behind them as they moved on with their mission, she knew something was wrong.

"Jamison!" He heard her whisper loudly, her voice echoing slightly up the corridor. There was a pause in her steps as she was presumably listening for his response before she started moving again. Jamison caught her shadow out of the corner of his eye as she rounded a corner and glided over to him with the use of her Valkyrie suit, sparing no more time to get to his side.

"I'm a'right," he said with a grunt and kept his gaze downcast, focusing on the shrapnel dented and scratched pole of his prosthetic lower leg.

Angela said nothing, but he watched in his periphery as she moved to stand before him and knelt quickly in front of him between his outstretched legs.

"You don't look 'a'right'," she mused, mimicking his Aussie accent which caused the corner of his mouth to curl into a half cocked grin.

He hadn't had much personal experience with the great Dr. Ziegler, though he had heard much of her. The good doctor loathed fighting and war, but her heart was bigger than her desire to see peace, so she put herself on the front lines in order to salvage the derelict and damaged souls like himself; the dregs that brought the very chaos and destruction that she wanted so desperately to cease.

He'd never really been a clean man, both inside and out, but beneath her angelic gaze, Jamison felt impure in the foulest of ways. It didn't feel right that he'd suddenly found himself in her charge.

He watched her under hooded lids as she went into doctor mode, her sapphire gaze darting over him in quick examination. Without saying a word she tugged off her dusty gloves and brought her hands forward to rest against his chest, which caused a startled gasp to escape between his lips. He wasn't in the least bit used to physical contact from other people, but what surprised him most was the calming heat that radiated from her touch that sent waves of relief through his body, like ripples on water. His eyes darted up to meet her soft gaze as she smiled down at him.

"Sorry, does it hurt?" She asked softly. His eyes moved from her penetrating gaze to her soft lips as she spoke and back. He could only manage to slightly shake his head in denial as he kept completely still beneath her ministrations.

"Relax," she murmured gently and he did his best to ease the tension that had suddenly seized his body from her close proximity.

Her hands moved from his chest down to his stomach where she gently palpated, causing him to stiffen again and grit his teeth against the bruising that had developed beneath his skin. Her fingers kneaded his muscles there gingerly and he felt that same calming heat spread beneath her touch.

In the distance, they both heard the voice of their team captain, Jack Morrison, calling for their healer.

Jamison moved his hand to rest over Angela's as he curled his fingers around hers and lifted her healing touch away.

"They need ya, Doc." He said sternly, emphasizing the collective _they_ as if he were a lesser being than the rest of them. Feeling a bit dejected, he imagined himself at the bottom of the totem pole in regards to the team's dynamics. He knew what they thought of him. A renegade merc like himself was disposable. He held no delusions that his presence meant nothing more than another weapon for them to toss aside once he passed the limit of his usefulness.

"Brigitte is with them. They will be fine. Besides, I think you need me a little more than they do. You're not invincible, Jamison, though I know you seem to think otherwise. The blast injuries from your explosives may not affect you like they do others because of how your body has been altered from radiation exposure, but the repetitive concussive blasts _is_ taking its toll on you."

The junker snorted indifferently as he looked to the side, avoiding her gaze. Her concern touched him on a level that he hadn't felt in a long time, which unnerved him. He was a wanted felon, murderer and terrorist. The type of resume he never would have imagined landing him on a team with the do-gooders of Overwatch. Jamison Fawkes didn't have feelings, he tried to convince himself on account of his warring sentiments. He was just an empty shell of a man that was the product of the tough environment in which he had to adapt to survive. He was beyond redemption and frankly, didn't deserve her help.

"I'll be fine. I jus' needed me a moment t'rest is all." He grumbled as he continued to push her hands away. "Get on with ya, Angela, I'll be right behind." He started to push himself up in an effort to end the conversation, but found himself shoved right back down with surprising force against the wall by the lithe woman.

"Oi!" He griped, his brows creasing as he scowled. Angela ignored his churlishness and went back to work, gently resting her hands against his abdomen as that penetrating heat returned to pool within his belly. He squirmed self-consciously, finding the experience not in the least bit detestable. It actually felt kind of nice. Still, he'd rather not be the focus of hers or anyone elses attention.

Truth was, he was starting to feel immensely better. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be torment free, as he'd been living with chronic pain from the aftereffects of radiation fallout and the loss of his limbs for so long. His lungs took a reflexive deep breath which was blissfully crackle and wheeze free. His ribs no longer jolted sharp pains down his back with the effort. The bruising on his stomach was just a dull ache now instead of the white hot agony it was before and the phantom pain of his mangled amputated arm and leg was miraculously gone.

His irradiated yellow gaze, which was once a rich hazel color before the Omnium fallout, lifted to meet her sapphire hues once more and a twinge of guilt squeezed around his heart, or where he believed the organ should reside, if he did indeed have one. He hadn't noticed before how very tired and bone weary she looked. Her eyes were dull, only holding a fraction of the shine he'd seen in them in the days leading up to their mission. Dirt and grime was smudged across her cheekbones which caused her creamy complexion to appear that much more gaunt and pale. Despite it all, she wore a smile and held fast to her determination to see him healed.

Selflessness.

This doctor had it in spades and his lips pursed together in a firm line as he hardened his gaze. He suddenly felt ashamed for trying to push her away and in hind sight, saw just how terribly the team took her for granted.

She sat back on her heels with a satisfied sigh as she lifted the back of her hand to wipe away beads of sweat off of her brow.

"The suit," she explained warily, perhaps noticing his sudden concern for her. "It draws on my energy in order to produce it's healing capabilities."

Heavy footsteps drifted up the hallway from behind them and Jamison quickly scooped up his frag launcher and stood, maneuvering himself to stand between the woman and the person closing in on their location. The hairs on the back of his neck stood in warning and his brows creased with his unease.

Just then there was a gust of air that brushed past him and he felt a distinct aura of dark wickedness that overshadowed his own inner blackness. This was an entirely different beast, he realized. A sinister cackle sounded in the space around them before a shadow materialized in his periphery. He re-positioned himself to stand between the doctor and the intruder that now stood before them.

"Gabriel," Angela's voice whispered in recognition from behind Jamison and the junker didn't miss the fear in her voice. He kept his eyes glued on the dark, tactically dressed man before them, his mechanical fingers twitching in anticipation of a fight.

"Hello, Doc." The strange mans deep, gravelly voice rumbled.

"Oi," Jamison, aptly nicknamed Junkrat, growled as a sinister grin spread across his face, his yellow eyes burning with ire towards the shadowed man as he straightened from his slouch to a more intimidating height in an effort to shield and protect the merciful medic at his back. "You look like the kind o' guy who could use somethin' blown up."

The masked man cocked his head slightly to the side as his hands slowly reached within the folds of his heavy black overcoat. "A candidate just came to mind..." He replied, his deep voice rumbling threateningly in the confined space.

"Go on, Mercy." Junkrat widened his stance a little further as he felt the familiar tug of battle lust and insanity gripping at his mind. A short meniacal giggle tittered from his throat as he eyed up his adversary.

Angela, known by her Overwatch crew as Mercy, gripped her Caduceus staff and stood slowly behind the junker she'd just finished healing. Instead of retreating like he'd ordered her to, she stood her ground at his back and gripped her staff, feeling the magical energy within it building before the three wings at the head of the staff began rotating counter clockwise and a tether of blue light burst forth from the charged core to bathe Junkrat in its crackling aura. He immediately felt it's effects which reminded him of a rush of pure adrenaline. His pupils dilated and his senses heightened as his muscles flexed taught, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

His lips parted as he grinned widly. "Now we're cookin' with gas! Yer gonna regret pickin' a fight wi' me, mate."

The masked man growled low before he whipped twin compact shotguns out from the shadows of his dark raiment. Junkrat moved with speed that would impress the six-shooter toting cowboy as he ripped a concussion mine from his belt and tossed it to the ground between them while simultaneously detonating it, sending him flying down the corridor in an effort to get out of range of those guns.

Mercy came rocketing from the cloud of smoke behind him, the wings of her Valkyrie suit scraping the walls of the hallway. Jamison landed, facing the direction he'd come from and crouched low as Angela swooped over his head to land safely at his back. Knowing she was out of harms way, he immediately started lobbing his frag grenades down the hall, watching as they bounced off of the walls and exploded in a hail of shrapnel and smoke.

The black wraith floated effortlessly away from the destruction and straight towards Jamison before taking form again, those twin shotguns aimed right at his head. He reacted instinctively as he dropped his launcher and swung a right hook with his mechanical arm, smashing his metal fist against the man's skull-like mask and causing him to stagger to the side with a grunt.

He needed more room to manuver, these tight quarters were not ideal to out pace this guy.

With a growl, Junkrat grabbed another concussion mine and flipped it up at the ceiling before detonating it. The explosion caused the masked man to stagger back slightly, which gave Jamison just enough time to scoop up his frag launcher and place a mine beneath his feet before he hopped upon it and squeezed the trigger unflinchingly in his hand.

The resulting explosion sailed him up through the hole in the ceiling and he erupted from the cloud of dust and drywall into the clear bright sky. Junkrat was relieved to see the battle angel on the wing right behind him, the blue tether of magic from her staff still crackling around him.

The junker tossed a steel trap at the mouth of the gaping hole in the building's ceiling as he landed with a thud on the roof top, ejecting the empty frag container from his launcher before slapping a fresh one in place.

"Behind you!" Mercy shouted from above just as the massive blasts from the twin shotguns of the wraith sounded, peppering the backs of his good arm and leg with their lethal pellets. The junker winced through the stinging pain as he whirled, lobbing grenades as he moved so they'd bounce in random directions, increasing the chance of hitting him, but the man had vanished. His sinister laugh drifted past Jamison and he whirled again, tossing a concussion mine in the vicinity he calculated the man would reappear, but seconds passed and the junker narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He whipped his head this way and that as he tried to get eyes on their foe.

Angela glided down to land behind him and he felt the boosting aura of her staff fade. He breathed an audible exhale as his heart began to slow from the frantic pace her magic had induced. The warmth of her touch spread over the wounds to his limbs and he craned his neck to peer down at her over his shoulder.

"Who was that guy?" He asked before he began scanning around them once more, expecting him to pop up out of nowhere.

"We call him Reaper, though in his previous life he was known as Gabriel Reyes. He was an augmented soldier, like Jack." Angela stepped back as she finished healing the junker once more.

"Great, another tight-assed dipstick." He mused as he kept looking around at their surroundings.

"He's a mercenary now...him and Jack didn't see eye to eye and Gabriel did a lot of terrible things." Angela spoke softer and Jamison could hear the remorse in her voice.

"Guess him and I have more'n common than I thought." He tittered as he turned towards Angela, but the smile faded from his lips when he saw her expression. He saw the disappointment and sadness in her eyes and he suddenly felt two inches tall.

"No." She stated firmly then after a long moment as her eyes suddenly burned with an emotion he couldn't quite pin. "You're nothing like him."

The vindicated tone of her voice hit him like a ton of TNT and it suddenly dawned on him what he saw in her eyes.

Hope. It was hope that lit her sapphire hues up like napalm kissing the sky.

A warmth bloomed within his chest at the faith of redemption that she had for him. It made him hope for himself that he could indeed have the fresh start that he so desperately wanted.

A vortex of black mist suddenly swirled between them and Jamison felt his blood run cold as Reaper materialized with his twin shotguns held out at arms length towards each of them, the barrels aimed right at their heads.

"Checkmate." Reaper growled, sounding bored, before his fingers tightened on the triggers. Junkrat squeezed the detonator in his hand as the concussive mine he'd placed on the ground behind him exploded, knocking him forward into the dark mercenary. Reaper twisted away from him and to Jamison's horror, aimed both guns at Angela and started firing them off.

He scrambled up, wishing like hell he had his big lug of a mate, Mako, here with him to hook the masked bastard back away from Mercy. She'd lept from the roof to try to escape the gun blasts and Junkrat tossed a mine beneath his feet to knock himself airborne with its blast. His frag launcher chimed off with it's reloading indicator as he fired one grenade after another, raining them down on Reaper before he lept from the roof as well, still in pursuit of the battle medic.

Junkrat knew this tactic well. Taking out the medics first on the battlefield was a sick and twisted way to ensure that your enemies suffered catastrophically. It was crippling to morale and worked as a type of psychological warfare to those who caught wind of it. He himself was guilty of doing it a couple of times during his crime sprees of the past. Blast off a bomb into an unsuspecting crowd then sit and wait to detonate a second when emergency responders swarmed in to assist the injured.

A double tap is what he called it.

He landed on the ledge of the roof before he lept down where Mercy and Reaper had disappeared. He heard shotgun blasts in the distance and didn't waste a second in launching himself in it's direction. He cleared another building before he saw Mercy below him, aiming her staff in his direction as the blue tether emerged to splash him in its boosting aura once more. She flew up past him as he landed hard on the ground a few paces away from the masked mercenary.

Incensed by the glimpse of the injuries she'd sustained at this man's hands when she'd zipped past him, Junkrat wanted nothing more than to wrap his fingers around Reapers throat and pop his head off. He reached for the next best alternative at his back as he lifted his rip tire from its holder which was attached the harness strapped to his chest. The explosives rigged, remote detonating tire he had tinkered together thudded hard on the ground before him as he propped his peg leg against a rubber tread for traction and yanked hard on the ripcord that roared an engine to life as it took off in Reapers direction.

"Fire in the hole!" Junkrat yelled and watched as the wraith tried to outmaneuver the tire, but Jamison had found some heat-seeking tech in an old omnic scrap heap that he used to build his creations and cackled with glee as it changed direction after him before it exploded with enough force to shake the ground beneath his feet. Glass shattered from the windows of surrounding buildings and he laughed triumphantly as the shards cascaded around him to litter the ground, like confetti heralding a victory.

"Hahaha, yeah! Rackoff ya fuckwit!" He called out to the crater that divoted the concrete in the wake of the explosion where he'd last seen Reaper standing.

"Did ya see that, Mercy?" He asked giddly as he twisted around with a jump. He froze in his celebration when his yellow eyes locked on her as she lay on the ground, barely holding herself up on trembling arms amungst the glass and rubble of the buildings surrounding them. Her Valkyrie suit was torn to shreds from Reapers shotgun blasts, her once angelic wings fanned out around her in broken tatters. Blood seeped slowly from her wounds as she panted to catch her breath.

Jamison ran to her side and knelt beside her as he scooped his mechanical arm beneath her knees and his good arm closed around her shoulders gently before effortlessly plucking her from the ground as he stood. "Hang on love, I gotcha." He murmured against her dusty blonde locks as she rested her head against his shoulder.

He kept a wary eye around every corner and down every alley as he hobbled quickly along the road his team had taken on their mission not long before. It was a moment longer before he caught sight of Jack Morrison running in their direction, the rest of the team at his back with a slew of police and their mission objective, which appeared to have reached its destination safely in their absence.

The soldier's face twisted into a murderous leer at he assessed the condition of their battle medic securely held in Jamison's arms as he came to a stop beside them.

"What happened?" He barked, his accusatory tone causing Junkrat to bristle.

"Reaper." Angela groaned.

"What?!" Jack roared, his hands tightening on the grips of his pulse rifle. "How could you let him do this to her?" The man seethed at Jamison as he secured the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and slung it beneath his arm before moving to take Angela from him.

An animal like growl ripped from the junkers throat as he twisted away from the soldier, his arms tightening possessively around Angela. Like hell he was just going to let him snatch her away from him.

"Rackoff and don'cha dare start actin' like ya care that much." He yelled as he looked through the red lenses of Jack's visor to see his eyes sizzling with anger.

"What the hell you talking about?" Jack growled back.

"I'll tell ya what, mate. Everyone uses and abuses this doctor like she's a blither'n machine, ne'er taken' into account how much ya drain her while yer holler'n for her help all over the bloody battlefield. Bloody drongo's, the lot o' ya." Junkrat bristled, the smoke and cinders rising from his hair added to his angry and seething mien.

"I'm fine." Angela protested weakly in his arms. Jamison tilted his head down, bringing his chin to rest against her temple as her head had lulled forward to nuzzle against his neck. "No, yer not." He retorted beneath his breath. He looked back at the faces of his team mates who stared back at him with startled expressions, apparently rendered speechless by his display of chivalry.

"Strewth. I'm guilty of it too. She's plumb stuffed and needs a good rest." He harrumphed before hobbling past Soldier towards an ambulance he saw waiting just beyond a line of police cars. Police. He clenched his teeth as he eyed the men in uniform warily. While he'd been granted a temporary reprieve from his wanted status (and Mako his, thanks to the smaller junkers awesome negotiating skills) in exchange for his help with the Overwatch, he couldn't help but feel apprehensive in their presence, learning long ago not to trust blindly.

"I can walk, Jamison." Angela murmured, distracting him from this thoughts. He distinctly felt her lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above his collarbone and swallowed hard as the sensation sent a jolt of heat that pooled low in his belly.

He didn't answer her, not trusting his voice at the moment, but kept hobbling along, his arms tightening around her so that his uneven gait didn't jolt her so much.

Angela sighed as a smile tugged at her lips. She hadn't misjudged this man afterall, she thought, as he silently carried her. A rutheless, cold hearted killer wouldn't give an iota about using her gifts selfishly and leaving her to die on the battlefield once the fight was done, but the junker had acted as her shield as much as he physically could from the moment danger presented itself.

She witnessed something change within him today and she hoped that whatever it was, was strong enough to start breaking down the barriers that she felt he'd erected around his heart and soul from the darkness of his past.

Her body ached fiercely and she wanted nothing more than give in to the numbness she felt creeping up her limbs.

"Almost there, Doc." Jamison's voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear, rousing her a little back towards consciousness. She inhaled a deep breath through her nose, taking in the scent of sweat, smoke and gunpowder; a scent that was distictly his and one that she found that she didn't mind. She started slipping back towards darkness as the gentle rocking of his uneven gait finally stopped and she felt herself lowered onto a gurney. The rumbling diesel of a vehicle nearby and the smell of medical equipment helped her to realize that he'd brought her to an ambulance.

The warmth of his arms slipped away and she found herself reaching out blindly, her fingers finding and grasping the surprisingly warm digits of his metal prosthesis. They closed around her hand and squeezed with a gentleness she never would have imagined was possible.

"Thank you..." Angela whispered before an oxygen mask was slipped over her face by the EMT's.

"Get some rest. I'll be seein' ya again soon." Jamison said with a smile before moving her hand to rest on the gurney and let go as they strapped her in.

He felt the glare of Jack on the back of his head before the man appeared at his side. His large hand clapped Jamison hard against his shoulder, causing the junker to stagger forward. He rolled his shoulder in an effort to remove the sting from the fraternal slap of approval and watched then as Soldier stepped around to climb inside the ambulance as they loaded the doctor in.

Jamison exhaled a puff of a sigh before he turned and caught a welcoming sight out of the corner of his eye as the ambulance rolled away. His best mate, Mako, was off to the side of the road, waiting for him on his chopper. A little side car, the hollowed out shell of a bomb they had fashioned with wheels, was attached to its side. He loved riding in that thing.

The big man held out a pair of re-purposed welding goggles to the smaller junker as he hobbled up, the mask that covered his face hiding any hint of expression, though it seemed that Jamison had mastered reading his friends moods despite this fact. He pulled the goggles down over his singed hair, carefully positioned them over his eyes and lept into the side cart where he plopped down on the faded and torn leather seat that was bolted inside. A puff of dust exploded around him which caused a sneeze to erupt from him in response.  
Roadhog continued to stare down at his employer almost expectedly. Junkrat sighed and rolled his eyes.

"No mate, they didn't ask about ya this time either." He gruffed. When the silence continued, Junkrat cocked his head to peer up into the fathomless black lenses of his bodyguard's porcine-like mask.

"What? Her?" He asked as he gestured with his thumb back over his shoulder towards the direction the ambulance that had taken Dr. Ziegler away.

"I wouldn't count on it mate." He grumbled as he nestled himself further down into the side cart, crossing his arms over his chest.

"She's too good for the likes of us." He added a bit wistfully. To this Roadhog exhaled a deep, audible sigh of exhasperation before he kicked the chopper's engine to a thunderous start.

"Let's go home, mate. I need me a cold one..." He lifted one of his arms to give his armpit a tentative sniff. "And a shower." He added as a side note. Roadhog whipped his head to the side at the mention of that particular activity and Jamison sank even lower into the side car, if that were possible, feeling the surprise of his partner's gaze, which reflexively made his lower lip stick out as he fumed and hunched his shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah, let's not make a big deal outta it, okay?" He turned his head away in an apparent dismissal of the subject and felt the wind whip through his hair as Roadhog rocketed their bike down the road. Truth was, now more than ever, he was remorseful about the idea of bathing the grime of the day's mayhem from his skin, for it would also wash off the lingering sweet scent that Mercy had left upon him, which stood out in stark contrast to the smell of smoke and gunpowder that he loved so much.

He sighed to himself as he watched the city scape fade away in the distance as his bodyguard and friend drove them home to their hideaway.

He could wash her from his body, but nothing could cleanse her actions and her words from his mind. He was probably reading too much into it; she probably treated all of her patients with the same selfless care and regard, but to him, it resonated deep in his core and meant so much more to him than it apparently did to anyone else on the team. He hoped that he'd made that perfectly clear with the lecture he'd given them all.

Mercy deserved far more than what her team gave her and if he was going to stick around, he was going to make damn sure that they treated her better. Being used and abused and cast aside was something of a personal matter to him, since he'd lived and gone through it himself and had come to expect the inevitable boot that was to eventually come after his mutual gig with Overwatch was up.

In the meantime, while he was with them though, he decided right then and there that he'd make it his personal duty to keep the combat medic safe.

No matter what.


End file.
